


on our way from Stockholm it started to snow

by cashewdani



Category: New Girl
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/pseuds/cashewdani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has been a distinct lack of repetitive carols sung around the apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on our way from Stockholm it started to snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



You don’t watch them light the tree in Rockefeller Center and you don’t listen to any Natalie Cole and you think maybe you’re going to be okay, but you don’t really believe that.

\---

Nick comes home from the bar one night with reindeer antlers on a headband that he throws on the coffee table in front of Jess. “I figured you might want to add way too many bows to this and then wear it for the next two weeks.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“Some drunk lady.” He flops down into the corner of the sofa, groaning in the same cadence as his grandfather. Jess just keeps writing in her notebook. “You don’t want to put them on? I thought you’d be really into this.”

She shrugs, pen still moving. “Maybe later.”

“What are you working on anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t make me tell Schmidt that I saw his name in your notebook so he reads it aloud to all of us when you’re in the shower.”

“Nick!” 

“Come on, Schmidt’s really the jerk in that scenario, Jess.” He pokes at her thigh with his toes. “Tell me what you’re writing.”

“Christmas stuff.”

He wants to call her on how she’s treating him like he’s incompetent, but, she really doesn’t seem in the mood. “And you don’t want to do that while wearing antlers? You feeling okay?”

“Yep,” she says, but she closes the off-brand Moleskine and puts it on the couch. On the other side of her. Where she clearly knows he’s too lazy to try and reach it.

He turns on the TV, and she watches some of a _Family Guy_ episode with him, but when that Target commercial about the lights that light the lights comes on, she gets up and doesn’t come back out of her room before he falls asleep to whatever that show is with the hillbilly octopuses.

\---

You were supposed to snap out of it. Every night you climb into bed and think tomorrow will be different. It will be better. Because you won’t care about all of this stupid stuff then.

But you do. 

Your mother calls to tell you about a date she went on, or you see people in t-shirts buying evergreen trees or you realize there will be no new, tacky apple ornaments from your students to hang up this year, and it’s another day that turns on you before you even realize it’s happening.

You add a new thing to the list by dinner time, each night, sometimes more than one. You say you’re doing it to make your peace, set them free. You know what you’re really doing.

\---

Nick’s heard Jess cry and moan and complain and make sounds that shouldn’t come out of healthy, adult human beings. He’s seen her sad and disappointed and lost, he knows what those things look like on Jess’ face and in her body language. And he’s looking for them right now because they’re less than two weeks out from Christmas Eve and she hasn’t made 11 pounds of fudge sprinkled in crushed up candy canes or forced them take a Happy Holidays 2012 picture in matching outfits. There has been a distinct lack of repetitive carols sung around the apartment also. He’s only had to hear “All I Want for Christmas is You” once while waiting in line to buy an American Dental Association toothbrush for his nephew, cause he’s a good kid. He deserves it.

It’s been great, he’s not going to lie, but there’s something not right about it.

And then she’s writing in that stupid notebook again instead of making a Christmas wreath out of fabric scraps or whatever, when he knocks on her door in an attempt to find out if anyone will take him out to get tacos. She tells him to bother Winston because she’s busy, and she’s not busy. “You’re not busy.”

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need tacos!”

“Yeah, but I want them, and I definitely need some money to make that happen. Let’s go,” he reaches for her jacket on a chair. “You can just cross out all the gifts you were going to get for me when we get back later.”

“It’s not a gift list.”

Waving the jacket at her, he says, “Whatever it is, come on.”

Slamming the notebook down, she tells him, “No, Nick, I said no!” She has that evil eye thing going on that she really honed on the kids at school, and he’s kind of shocked none of the middles schoolers wet their pants when it was directed at them.

“Alright, sorry, we don’t have to go.” He puts his hands up in a show of surrender after placing her jacket on the bed. “But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on.”

“Jess.”

She sighs. “Okay. Look. I know I haven’t been myself recently, and so I’m trying to write down all the things about the holidays that are making me sad so I can move on.”

“So like a Crapsgiving list.”

“Wouldn’t it be a Crapsmas list or a Crappy Hanukkah list? It is December.”

“Yeah, but how good does Crapsgiving sound? Like, all the things you don’t want to give a crap about! Oh man, this is fantastic, I want to add some.”

“You have to make your own list.”

He flops down on the bed next to her. “Well, what are some things that are on yours? Let me see for inspiration.”

“Did you ever start to think that maybe this was private?”

“Why? Because you were trying to keep it from me? Don’t be stupid, let me see.” She sighs and angles the book towards him. “I would have thought you’d have used red and green pens alternatively. For effect.”

“Nope. Just black.”

She’s monotone when she says it in a way that he knows means something, but then he sees where she’s included _N’Sync’s Christmas Album_.

“You did not put this on your list.”

“I did! Cece and I used to dance to that every year!”

“Until what? You stopped wearing a training bra? Come on.”

“No, until she sold it at her garage sale.”

“So download it if you want to hear it so much.”

Jess rolls her eyes like he’d said he was scared to go down to the basement. “You can’t just download that album!”

“I’m pretty sure you can.”

“No, like, whatever, I’m in my thirties, I’m not downloading a boy band’s album.”

He keeps going through what she’s written, even though he doesn’t think anything can top what he’s already seen. “This is a pretty good collection here, most of these things are super annoying, that CD included. I mean, you’ve even got those gummy mint leaves on here.”

She somewhat wistfully informs him, “My grandmother used to put those out at Christmas.”

“Mine did too, they’re gross right?”

“Yeah,” Jess agrees, touching that line with her finger. “They’d make my lips burn.”

“You’re really hating all this stuff this year?” 

Because it seems like if everything on this list was happening in this room right now she’d be brighter than the Christmas tree woodland creatures had assembled in the corner.

“Apparently,” she says, nodding her head once in a jerk.

“This is way better than a Christmas wish list, Jess. Really. I’m happy you did this.”

“Me too,” she says, but she looks sad, and he still wants tacos.

\---

You wrote a Christmas list. That’s what was on the uneven edge of the piece of paper you tore out.

You wrote down that you wanted a husband. And a house. And a baby growing inside you, even though you were queen of the eggs. Maybe even more than one baby, since you happened to be fertility royalty. You wanted your job back, teaching middle schoolers, because of that look people used to give you like you were crazy, and how much you knew the kids needed you because of that. It would have been nice not to have gotten dumped on Halloween. It would have been nice not to get dumped ever. 

You wished your parents had gotten back together. At Thanksgiving, or your graduation, or that time you pretended you’d really hurt your ankle skiing. And then you’d crossed that out and wrote instead about how they never should have gotten divorced in the first place. You wanted a car you weren’t scared to drive. You wanted a vacation it wouldn’t make you feel guilty to take.

You had this whole list in front of you of things you didn’t have, a detailed inventory of all your failures, and that’s when you’d torn it out and ripped it up into pieces that were so small you don’t even know how you did it with just your hands. You flushed them down the toilet, and you let yourself cry until the water stopped running to fill the tank, and that’s when you’d decided to make a list instead of little things you missed. Just little things like snowflakes, and the taste of your mom’s cookie batter on a spoon, things you’d just feel a little pang for while reminiscing and that wouldn’t make you doubt your entire existence.

You thought it was different, as you wiped your bottom lashes with your index fingers, but it still feels the same.

\---

Nick knows that it’s not a competition, but his Crapsgiving memoirs are going to smack Jess’ in the face with a paint can. It’s going to be a massacre. He made himself come up with 25 the first day, for all those annoying commercials ABC Family has been playing, but it just snowballed from there. He’s shocked it took him until 37 to include company, but, he thinks that’s because he saw a dog in a Christmas sweater and that started a whole trend.

“72,” he exclaims to Jess when she comes in from dropping Cece at the airport. “I got up to 72 in the time it took you to go to LAX and back.”

She asks him, “And you’re happy about that?” taking off a scarf that she doesn’t need to be wearing.

“Hell yeah, I’m happy about that. I’d only be happier about this if you brought home a Cinnabun.”

“Sadly, I didn’t park in the garage just to buy you a Cinnabun.”

He scoffs. “Schmidt would have.”

“Winston wouldn’t.”

She’s right, he can’t argue that Winson definitely would not have brought him one. “Well, come on, at least tell me what you added to yours today.”

“Nothing. I didn’t add anything,” she informs him with a smile.

“I came up with over 15 things since this morning, and you’ve got nothing?” She goes to join him on the couch, but he informs her, “No, this couch is for winners. It’s a place for a weary warrior to rest his bones after a day of toil. You don’t get to just flounce onto it when you haven’t put in the man hours! Get your ugly, no good keister off my property!”

“Seriously?”

“Okay, that last bit was a little harsh.”

“Thank you,” she says, warily balancing on the edge of a cushion. “How about you share with me?”

“Nah, let’s just watch some junk. Maybe you’ll be inspired all on your own.”

She thinks out loud, “I should call my dad,” but settles further into the arm of the couch.

It takes only two commercial breaks for her to say, “Christmas pageants.”

“Number 21 for me,” Nick informs her, taking another drink of his beer. He’s going to ask her what the story is behind that one, but _Roseanne_ comes back on, and he’s only seen this episode once this week.

\---

You get angry about the list at some point, and it’s almost like you were never sad, except you were, and now you’re just really pissed instead. And then that sucks a little more, because there’s no real person to be annoyed with. No real thing to point your finger at and blame.

So you blame yourself. For being sad. For being angry. For not having all these things you want.

And mostly for being too weak to go out and get them.

Other people are happy. It’s Christmas. And you’re the girl with a wish list that’s too depressing to even think of sending to Santa.

\---

Nick’s list craps out at 89, still light years ahead of Jess’, but he knows she’s adding new things all the time.

That notebook is like an extension of her now. It’s always around. In her purse, or on her nightstand, and creepily, even on the bench next to her towel in the bathroom. Like she had to be ready if genius struck while she was washing her hair.

He’s not enjoying it any more, and he doesn’t know if that’s because there’s apparently less than 90 things he hates about the holidays or because of her dedication, or what. All he knows is he’s supposed to be way more of a Grinch and she’s supposed to decorate gingerbread cookies to look like everyone they know.

But maybe things are changing, and that’s okay. It’s not anything to lose sleep over.

Until he goes to the freezer on auto-pilot after midnight because he’s sure there’s a Jubilee Roll in there. Jess went to the grocery store today, there has to be a Jubilee Roll.

But there’s nothing festive in the freezer, it’s all taquitos and pizza and frost on the walls.

And it’s devastating.

Nick actually thinks he might be getting misty eyed staring at a bag of frozen wings where he expected to find a holiday treat bedecked in fudge and almonds. And it’s ridiculous, but it’s not ridiculous, because Jubilee Rolls are the holidays. And he wants a giant slab of shitty ice cream right now because he’s not going to feel right without it.

And there’s this one thing, this one little thing, that he can easily go out tomorrow and get, and he thinks of Jess’ list, that practically a full page of things she wants as much as he wants some Friendly’s, and he can’t believe he’s encouraged her to write more.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he starts scraping at the accumulation of ice in the corners of the freezer, but all he’s seeing is the word snow in Jess’ handwriting. His fingers red and aching, he pulls the stuff out, forming a lump when he’s finally dislodged enough of it.

Nick launches that bastardized snowball at Jess in her bed before he fully thinks the plan through. And in the split second between it leaving his numb hand and connecting with her forehead, he realizes how incredibly stupid this is, but, it’s really too late to do anything about it.

“SORRY!” he yells, flinching back as the ice spreads over her pillowcase.

“Why did you do that?!” she shrieks, her bangs dripping onto her face.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, there wasn’t a Jubilee Roll?”

“You threw ice at me because I didn’t buy you dessert? Are you serious with this right now?!”

“No, well, like not really entirely the Jubilee Roll. I threw ice at you because I’m an idiot, and I’m selfish, and I was just happy someone else was being a jerk about Christmas instead of acknowledging you were really hurting. So, Merry Christmas, I got you a snowball.”

“You really do give the worst gifts, Nick Miller.”

“I’m sorry though, really. You can sleep in my bed.”

“Well, now I’m up. So the least you can do is drink hot chocolate with me while we watch a movie.”

“Yeah, that’s literally the least I could do.”

“You’re going to have to make the hot chocolate. And melt a candy cane in mine.”

“Of course,” he says, even though hot chocolate with peppermint flavor is somewhere in the 40s of things he gives a crap about. But, he does it, because Jess will like it, and it helps warm his hands up.

She’s still rubbing a towel over her head, making her hair puff up like cotton candy when he brings the mugs to the living room. “I still seriously can’t believe you did that.”

“Well, it probably won’t be the stupidest thing I’ll ever do.”

“No, you’re probably right about that,” she says, reaching for the remote. He hears the familiar music and sees it’s a Chris Columbus film, and knows it’s _Home Alone_ before the title shows up underneath a winter moon.

“This is my favorite Christmas movie,” he says, a little in awe of what’s transpiring here in their living room.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, seriously. I’ve been thinking about it.” He watches her blow on her drink. “Did I ever tell you they filmed this like fifteen minutes from where I grew up. I went trick or treating at that house one year.”

“Did they give out huge, king size candy bars?”

“No. Can you believe those animals?”

She laughs, and puts her cold, wet hair against his neck, and tells him she’s sure Uncle Frank is his favorite.

He is. Of course he is.

Nick puts his arm around her and they say so many lines in unison but he doesn’t mention to her that tonight kind of feels like when Kevin realizes he misses his family, even Buzz.

\---

You start a new list, even though it’s nearly 3, writing in silver, sparkly pen the things you’re grateful for. _Warm drinks, John Hughes, fuzzy socks, Daniel Stern._ You pause before writing _friends_ , but your heart thinks _Nick_ while you write it anyway. 


End file.
